My Favorite Thing

Christmas was really great for us this. However, a few days after the fact, I have come to realize that THIS gift from my brother is my favorite:

It is the softest, plushiest robe I've ever owned. And though it came from Victoria's Secret, when I wear it I feel less like an underwear model and more like the Mayoress of Whoville. Still, I love it. I've started wearing it so often that I think I caught Plantboy giving me the barest hint of the eyebrow when I put it on last night just after dinner.

Cure

Next time you are grouchy, get a copy of "Skippyjon Jones" by Judy Schachner. Then find the nearest child (I don't care if it happens to be one you know), sit down and read it to them. Yes, yes, doing all the voices, including the chihuahuas. You'll be smiling by page 10 and laughing out loud by page 15. If not, ask the librarian to give you your money back.

Even Plantboy wants to do storytime now.

A Christmas Haiku (Or Three: Vote For Your Favorite)

Chocolate and sweet bread
Neighbors bringing more and more
Time for throwing up


Wild joyful children
Gifts, house torn apart by lunch
Absolute meltdown


Peaceful morning hour
Lights twinkle on smooth parcels
Giving is the gift

Secret Santa

Somebody just left a giant box of gifts and an huge, adorable stuffed dog on our porch. There is a card with the box that says, "Love Your Secret Santa."

What fun! We've never been the recipient of anything more dramatic than "Boo" treats on Halloween.

But then the guilt set in. We don't need anything. AT ALL. I know there are probably families in our ward (let alone our community) that could use the help far more than we can. I'm grateful; so grateful, but I hope I haven't some how put across the idea that we weren't going to have a Christmas. There is just so much under the tree . . .

Advice?

Yankee Girl is My New BFF

You are all a bunch of duds. Only Desmama, with her less than a week old baby has a reasonable excuse. However, I will allow that the holidays have all of you much too busy to enter silly contests. You are too busy spending money to win free stuff I guess . . .

As if anybody cares at this point, here is my list of ten downloads that have each already been listened to ten times in the last couple of days:

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen: Bare Naked Ladies featuring Sarah McLachlan
I was always a little bit "meh" about this particular carol, but the way they have put together the rhythms and the harmony in this rendition has moved it quickly up to one of my favorites. It is fun, but not taken lightly at the same time. If you get what I mean. If you don't, please find a copy of this and listen to it. Go. Now. I'll wait. . . .

Baby It's Cold Outside: Lady Antebellum
I have loved this song ever since I heard Zoey Daschenel sing it on "Elf." (She has an awesome voice.) It is just so clever and funny and seductive all at once. The harmony of this country band is really great and the little bit of steel guitar in the background is a lot of fun.

Last Christmas: Taylor Swift
Yes, it is THAT song from the 80's. It was the first Christmas song I remember hearing that made me think, "Wait! Christmas songs don't actually have to have anything to do with Christmas?" When George Michael sings it, it is mostly cheesy and kind of pathetic, but Taylor Swift can really get away with it. Nobody does innocent teen angst better than Miss Swift.

A Baby Changes Everything: Faith Hill
The lyrics to this are so cool. All along the song is about how Mary's life is changed because of this unexpected teen pregnancy. But at the end, you realize that this baby changed everything for everyone. It is beautiful.

Take A Walk Through Bethlehem: Trisha Yearwood
I must admit, Trisha could sing the alphabet and I'd probably think it was awesome. I love so many parts of this song. "Every heart longs for more than tinsel, something more than just a holiday, come and celebrate the baby king, let's take a walk . . . "

There's a New Kid In Town: Trisha Yearwood.
Again, see the comment on the previous song. It has very beautiful lyrics about seeking out the king and asking everyone in town where he is. Queen Trisha can really do no wrong. (I won't even talk about how gypped she is every year when the best female vocalist award is announced. She beats them all into the ground, she just doesn't have the popularity. There is a difference between being able to sing and selling a bazillion albums.)

Do You Hear What I Hear?: Kristin Chenoweth
This woman sounds like an angel. I mean, what I assume angels sound like. I'm not trying to imply I've actually heard angels singing.

Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home): U2
C'mon, its Christmas, its U2, what's not to love?

All I Want For Christmas Is You: Mariah Carey
Not a big Mariah Carey fan. I just really don't care much for pop music. But in this song, she proves why she is a superstar. It is perfect. And none of that wailing in octaves only meant for dog ears.

Christmas Wrapping: The Waitresses
I love this song. It is really just hilarious. The premise would make a screenplay for a funny Christmas movie, I think. Hm . . . that is one more writing project idea that I'll probably never start.

Anyway, Yankee Girl chose two from the list, plus she put the U2 song on her blog playlist. Her last post was about how much she loved Kristin Chenoweth. So, obviously, I like country music better than she does, but with the her new playlist maybe she'll convert.

We'll Celebrate With a Contest!

I thought for my 200th post we would do something REALLY fun. Last week Nem had people post favorite Christmas movies and then books. A couple of days ago I was going to ask all of you lovely people about favorite Christmas songs and then download the best. Then I thought, "Wait a minute! I don't care what everyone else likes. It's MY iPod!"

So now we are going to play a little guessing game. I downloaded TEN new Christmas songs yesterday. Only two of them are from the same album. Here is how you play: List ten Christmas songs in your comment. The person who most accurately guesses my list (with at least TWO matches) will win the prize.

Free blog visits for the next year.

Kidding. Of course, kidding. If you get the most correct guesses, I will download these ten shiny new songs onto a CD and send them to you. If I am going to get it to you by Christmas, the contest has to end by Saturday morning. (If I don't have your e-mail address, you'll need to give it to me so that I can get your actual address.)

So, ready to play?

Since I don't have a playlist running on the site, I realize that you might need a few hints. Here they are:

1. Martina McBride, Jewel and Harry Connick Jr.' s Christmas albums are already loaded onto my iPod.

2. When I taught school in Utah, I downloaded the livestream for 101.9 The End's Christmas music for my students to listen to while they worked on projects. This radio station is actually one of the things I miss the most about Utah.

3. My top five most played songs are by David Cook, Trisha Yearwood, Kelly Clarkson, Keith Urban and KT Tunstall. Though my Top 25 also includes Garth Brooks, Jann Arden, Madonna, Matchbox 20, Toto, Phil Collins and The Wreckers.

4. All of the songs were easily found through iTunes: I already knew either the artist or the names of the songs I was looking for. It was really easy to find what I wanted under the "Holiday" genre.

5. If you choose anything by Manaheim Steamroller then you are dead to me.

I Get So Emotional

I was a very emotional teenager. Which statement, no doubt, is ridiculously redundant if you were ever a teenage girl yourself.

This extreme emotion lasted a long time. Even through my twenties as I served a mission, finished school, taught, married, moved, had children. . . . each change seemed to bring on such strong roller-coaster emotions that I often despaired of ever really feeling like I'd arrived in a place (or with a self) I was comfortable with.

Hitting thirty was a little overwhelming for me, but my mother kept telling me that her 30's were her best decade. I soon learned what she meant: my life didn't really stabilize, but my approach to it did. Maybe it is being enough years away from high school that only a few choice memories remain. Maybe it is nearly ten years in a marriage that finally gives me a sense of security. Maybe I have had enough of a taste of trials and resolution to trust the Lord better. Maybe my need to please others has finally taken a backseat to the need to please myself. I don't know. But the few years I have attained have given me perspective and understanding I never had a decade ago.

And then a day like yesterday comes along.

My emotional range yesterday made multiple personality disorder look tame: foolish, tired, edgy, diligent, responsible, impatient, triumphant, harried, frustrated, headachey, adored, pious, bored, forgetful, uplifted, covetous, judgemental, incredulous, shocked, angry, (the last three all from Relief Society, but that is a story best left untold!), loving, grateful, unctuous, apologetic, verbose, critical, indignant, guilty, passionate, repentant, generous, prideful, annoyed, grouchy, punctual, gregarious, intolerant, irate, punishing, conciliatory, resigned, committed, snarly . . . .

Maybe if I took the time to analyze each day for its emotions, I'd find similar results. Or maybe yesterday was especially extreme. It sure felt that way. I hit my knees with the sincerest prayer I've said in a long time last night.

This morning, I delivered papers in a snow storm. While I'm glad this is not a daily event, I was grateful for it this morning. The lonely, quiet, whiteness gave me a lot of space in which to reflect. During a frustrating moment with my 7 year-old last night, I told him that the best part of a new day is that we got to try again. We get to start over without mistakes. This thought seemed to cheer him, as it has me many times, enormously. I thought of this mistake-free day idea a lot as I looked at the lovely, blank, bright snow.

It occurred to me that I don't want to be UN-emotional, or even mellow. I like feeling things deeply. But where I seem to get into trouble, is that all of my emotions are strong. The snow made me think of the Savior and his purity. It made me think that my strongest emotions need to be much more like the Christ-like attributes we bring up in every Sunday School lesson--charity, loyalty, faith, commitment, integrity, purpose, goodness, and the like. On the other hand, my natural-man emotions need to be tempered. It is these emotions that lead to stupid actions, guilty feelings and self-loathing.

As I ran from house to house, I thought of two ways I want to work on making myself a person who listens more and judges less: The first is that I just need to shut my mouth. Not ALWAYS, but maybe 50% of the time when I think I should speak: instead should just nod my head and listen. I also need to focus on being more grateful. If I focus on what is good, maybe I won't have the time to get thinking about all that is wrong with everything. And everyone.

These thoughts came to me, making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside despite the cold and wet. Then my car wouldn't start. Five a.m. Six inches of snow. Running nearly 30 minutes late on my papers. Parked practically in the middle of the road. Twenty-five degrees. Five miles from home. AND MY CAR WOULDN'T START.

I called Plantboy and gave him directions to my stranded car and he agreed to be out the door and on his way. I sat for a moment in the rapidly cooling car and did the one thing I could do. I gathered the biggest armful of papers that I could and a clip of paper bags and kept delivering papers. I might have been a damsel in distress, but the last thing I was going to do was sit around and WAIT to be rescued.

Instead of thinking about how miserable I was in the steadily picking up snow and the wind, I tried to remember what I had just been thinking about. Having no opportunity to practice shutting my mouth around other people, I decided to be grateful. Here was the mantra:

Grateful that it is Monday and the papers are small.
Grateful that my parents are still in town so Plantboy can leave the house.
Grateful that my feet are dry.
Grateful that I am on the second half of my route so that the houses are closer together.
Grateful for the additional exercise the running in the snow offers.
Grateful that my cold is almost cleared up.
Grateful that I didn't get the nasty cough with my cold.
Grateful for snow that will make people more forgiving (or later to sleep) when their papers are late.
Grateful for the quiet.
Grateful for the beauty.
Grateful for imagination that keeps me company every morning at 3:30.
Grateful that Plantboy happened to see me just as I delivered the last paper I'd been able to carry and I could ride the six blocks back to the car instead of jog . . .

Plantboy started the car with no trouble.

I started to cry.

I'm grateful for a husband who doesn't berate, criticize or belittle when I do something dumb: he just gave me a hug and created a hokey explanation for my scientific mind about why the car would suddenly start for him. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful.

But I still cried and felt very sorry for myself and very stupid. Maybe I will have to start my exercise in building Christlike attributes/more tempered emotions TOMORROW.

Lazy Post

I've got an awful head cold, but I feel the need to do something besides lay on the couch and watch CMT. Yet, at the same time, my drug-induced state of mind is not really conducive to original thought. Instead, I will answer Denedu's tag about relationships.

Plantboy and Science Teacher Mommy



Where did you meet?

The old Conoco at 4th North in Logan. I say “old” because there is a Conoco station now in front of Smiths, but they tore down the actual building. Now, before you think that we were just pumping gas and then picked each other up, we were both working there. There is something so romantic about beer (but not on Sunday) and cigarettes. We have some hilarious memories from that place. Like the time the UPS guy caught us kissing in the cooler . . . the scavenger hunt people who were looking for two people to kiss and without any warning, Plantboy dipped me and really smooched me while they pulled out their video camera. . . . all the cute girls that Plantboy told were too pretty to smoke . . . the teenagers who pulled the sink off the wall in the bathroom . . . .


What was the first thought that went through your head when you met?

My first memory of Plantboy is that he was very sweet but kind of dense, and that he had beautiful elevator eyes. I had kissed and/or dated every guy that worked at the gas station (I was getting over a really serious relationship and bad break-up), and my roommates joked that he was just next on the list. They nick-named me the “Cono-ho.”

Do you remember what he was wearing?

Nope. But I’m sure he had on cargo pants because that was all he owned when I met him. That summer I had the cutest pair of SIZE 4 Calvin Klein jeans that Plantboy definitely remembers. I was probably wearing those.

Where did you go for your first date?

He had only been at the store for a few weeks when he was scheduled to close on his own. I had worked with him earlier and told him I’d come back later to help. Remember? Cute, but dense. Anyway, after I helped he said he “owed me dinner.” A few days later he invited me over to his apartment, because he had COOKED for me. I’d never had a guy do this before. I couldn’t decide if he was incredibly cheap or just really sweet. Well, he wasn’t cheap. We had salmon and wild rice and baby red potatoes and candy carrots and broccoli . . . everything was cooked perfectly and he’d even gotten rid of his roommates. It was fantastic. He later played the guitar for me and sang “All I Want Is You.” He claimed it was the only song he knew, but there was something about he way he looked right at me when he sang that made my toes curl. We talked about our missions and backpacking in Glacier National Park. I didn’t want to leave even though I had to work so early the next morning.

Where was the first time you kissed this person?


I think this is a funny question. My first thought was “on the lips.” As far as where we were at . . . we were hiking in the Wellsvilles. Those of you familiar with the south end of the valley will know that hunter’s parking area and trail that is just a mile or two before you get into the valley. We hiked up through there for an hour or so and I got slightly ahead of him. All of sudden, it hit me like a ton of bricks that I wanted to kiss him. So I stopped, grabbed his flannel shirt and planted one on him. We didn’t hike much further that afternoon. The other great memory from that day is when he screamed like a girl at the doe that startled us.


When was the first time you realized that you liked this person?

After that first kiss (just days after our first date), things accelerated really quickly and I told him that I wanted a moratorium on all kissing for two weeks. I just had to work out in my head what I really wanted. During that time we took a ride up the canyon one cold night in September. We lay in the bed of his truck, cuddled up in a sleeping bag, but we did nothing but talk for two hours as we looked at the stars. I'd never done anything more natural or perfect in my life and, though it was a month or two later that I told him, I fell in love with him that night. It was like I could see in my mind that our paths had merged and there was no way I would be able to escape that oneness, not without leaving behind too much of myself. I didn't (and don't) believe in "one and onlys" but that day I came to see that he'd been placed in my life for a reason--and vice versa. I felt that we had been given to one another.

How long did you know this person before you became a couple?

Hm . . . it is hard to say. We saw each other a lot from the time of our very first date. We’d only been going out a week when we started kissing and acting really coupley. I’d never jumped into a relationship that fast. In fact, it kind of bothered me (he was calling like three and four times a day and we were spending hours every day together) and I asked him to back off. When I didn’t hear from him for two days, I called him on the phone and asked him to spend the weekend with me at my parents’ house. After that, there was never any talk of “needing more space.”


How did this person propose to you?

It was the day before New Year’s eve in 1998. He invited me to his apartment and made the me the same dinner he had on our first date. This time, there was an enormous bouquet of daisies and baby irises on the table. He wore his fabulous navy blue velour shirt (still one of my favorites) and got on one knee. I hugged him and cried. He had tried to keep the whole thing a big surprise, but he cannot keep secrets from me, so I knew it was coming. I had just taken a job in Layton and was going to have to move to another city to live with my parents just a few days later. Less than a year earlier, I’d had an engagement break off. Even though we knew that we couldn’t get married until my school let out (early June), he didn’t want me to move away not being engaged because I had a lot of security issues. I’d never wanted a long engagement, but he didn’t want me to wonder how committed he was.

Do you and this person have kids together?

Three boys (7, nearly 4 and 18 months). In spite of, or maybe because of?, that we are still crazy about one another. I love that when we got out as a family, I am always with the four best-looking boys in the room.



Have you ever broken the law with this person?

Yes. A few times. Some of those I won’t tell you about because this a G (or maybe PG) rated blog, but another time is very funny and worth retelling. The February after we got engaged, I had a former roommate who was leaving on a mission from Moab. Several of us road-tripped down for the farewell. It was cold, but there was a full moon one of the nights we were there. We all decided that we wanted to hike to Delicate Arch in the moonlight. It is one of the coolest hikes I’ve ever taken. Unknown to the girls, the boys had decided that they wanted to dance NAKED under the arch. When we got to the top, the boys asked us to wait at the rim and they walked around the slippery sandstone to get as close to the arch as they could. A few minutes later, one of the girls in our group said, “Omygosh! Are they doing what I think they are?” Those lily-white butts were obvious to everyone. And lest you think I’m making this up, there is a very embarrassing picture to prove it. So no felonies together, but I’m sure that indecent exposure at a national monument is a misdemeanor.

Do you trust this person?

This question’s answer should be “duh,” but I can see why it is on the list. The first guy I was engaged to had been a real player. There was a lot in his past that didn’t sit comfortably with me and I was never convinced he was being totally honest. I entered an engagement with him, truly thinking in the back of my mind, that he was the kind of man that would one day cheat. It wasn’t me that broke off the engagement. The fact that I can trust Plantboy gives me incredible peace of mind.

Do you see him as your partner in your future?

Oh,yes. (This is a joke with us; I accidentally said this instead of “yes” when we were doing sealings one day in the temple while we were engaged. I had it inscribed on his ring; he tried to get me to say it over the altar even.)

What is the best gift he gave you?

Hm . . . today I’m cuddling in an incredibly soft set of Victoria Secret flannel jammies that he gave me the first year we got married. All of Plantboy’s gifts are wonderful, but this is the one I’m appreciating right now.

What is one thing he does that gets on your nerves?

It is hard to say. He is so laid back and mellow and lovable that even things that used to bug me really don’t anymore. But maybe that is it—he is so laid back that he is often disorganized. This sometimes leads to disagreement and frustration.

Where do you see each other 15 years from now?

Our current pet dream is to both be teaching school (possibly university?) and taking every summer off to travel around the country with our Air Stream trailer.

What causes the most arguments?

Me. Plantboy doesn’t argue. If tempers are lost (more often me than him, but this is pretty rare), then apologies usually come within about five minutes and we don’t nurse arguments or grudges one day to the next.

How long have you been together?

We met ten years ago last August and June 5th will be our 10th anniversary.

Who Do you Tag?

Whomever needs a blog idea and an excuse to gush about their fabulous spouse.

What Is Wrong With This Picture

I could give all the gory details of the RS Enrichment Christmas Party last Thursday and the Ward Christmas Party Program last Saturday, both of which I was in charge of. I could give glowing reports of each and lie convincingly that both "went off without a hitch." The truth is that they each had their ups and downs, I've put in more hours of work for church over the last few weeks than I have since my mission, and there were many hitches. In addition, my lack of sleep shot my resistance against the disgusting germs my boys have been passing around and I think I'm getting a cold.


Still, the feedback from the sisters in the ward tells me that the party was enjoyable and I heard several stellar comments about the program I wrote. (Truthfully, I think the latter is more of a tribute to just how BAD programs in Christmas past have been.)


But I don't want to post about any of that today. Or that I'm decorating for Christmas. Or that my parents are surprising my kids with a visit later this week.


I want to post about this picture and the accompanying story found on the cover of our newspaper this morning:



Look closely. What do you see? Keep in mind that in the paper, the image was cropped and most of the food at the bottom cut out, but the green box near her head and her face were larger.

Here is the letter to the editor I fired off about ten minutes ago:

Dear Editor,

Kudos to Billie Richardson for the impressive and inspiring FOOD For Lane County drive she is doing in her community. However, either the photographer or the story editor gets a big thumbs down for running that particular picture of her. It takes close scrutiny to see that the case of Miller Light next to her face is merely being used as a storage box for other goods. My initial impression was that somebody had donated a case of beer to her goods drive. It wouldn't have taken a degree in fine arts to move the case from the shot, which was obviously posed. FFLC is unlikely to appreciate the run on their facilities over the appearance that they are handing out beer in addition to other "essentials."

Sincerely,

STM

Homesick

When you have lived in a variety of places, the concept of "home" becomes a little bit fuzzy. It seems to take on a more figurative quality than a physical one. I am glad to say that there are things I have dearly loved about each place I've lived: Colorado for the proximity to my excellent in-laws and the mountain towns; Houston for the most amazing set of friends a young mom could ever have; Utah for my family, its familiarity and the itchy feet I get every winter to pull out my skies. If (When?) we leave Oregon, I will miss the green and the wet, but mostly I'll miss the ocean.

But none of these places have been foremost in my mind the past several days. Instead, my thoughts have turned to the home where I lived just over a year and have little practical chance of ever returning to. In just a few weeks it will be 12 years since I left that place.

Australia.

I saw the movie by the same title on Saturday. Before going, I read several, mixed, critical reviews. I seldom do this before going to a movie, but I'm glad, in this case, that I did. It is important to approach the film with an understanding of what the director's intention was. Baz Luhrman set out to create an epic. And I mean epic in the Gone With the Wind, Ten Commandments and Wizard of Oz sense of the word. His story is a mix of a fable and history and miracles. His strong characters are placed on a technicolor backdrop and shot in an amazing array of situations both up close and from hundreds of miles out.

If you see this creation, you must immerse yourself in a world of film-making with the expectation to have an old-fashioned time at the movies. And such a time it is.

It took some time for me to settle into the rhythm of the film: the first 20 minutes or so is told from the narrative view-point of a biracial aboriginal boy (Nala) and the main characters are painted as almost-ridiculous caricatures. Then, when the other characters actually meet up with Nala, the actors assume a more realistic pose. The story is then told in two main parts--before and after happily-ever-after. A word on the three main actors:

The child is incredible. The film is really about him and his people. He carries the movie the way Haley Joel Osmet carried Sixth Sense and that adorable Maori girl carried Whale Rider. When this boy smiles, he steals every scene from two of the world's most beautiful people. His air is a perfect combination of innocence and wisdom. He is on the screen only minutes when you find yourself caring intensely about his fate.

Nicole Kidman is perfect as Lady Sarah Ashley. Again, the first several minutes of the film creates her as more of a parody of a great British lady than as a person. Then, within just a few hours of meeting Nala, she takes a horsewhip to her white foreman who is attempting to beat the child. She curses him off of her land without a thought about what will happen next and behind her beauty and poise you see a woman to be reckoned with. Her pencil-skirts and high heels deceive us into thinking she is a typical heroine in need of rescuing. But her intoning, "Just because that's how it is, doesn't mean that's how it should be," tells us that she, instead, will be the rescuer.

What can be said about Hugh Jackman? Perhaps only that People magazine previewed the film before publishing last week's article, because their assessment is spot on. As "The Drover" He is tough, tough, tough every minute. So tough that when startling moments of tenderness come through it is disarming and wonderful. For all the American films he has starred in, and how believable he is as an American, this movie is a powerful reminder that he is all Aussie.

Australians often call their country "Oz." When I first heard this expression, typical of the Aussie speech-mannerism to abbreviate any and all words when it is convenient to do so, I assumed I was hearing "Aus." then I saw somebody write it one day. Oz. Hmm . . . .

My favorite scene in the movie is when Nala is in need of comfort, and Drover tells Lady Ashley that as a woman, she must be the one to do it. She is awkward, having never really been around children before. Still, he listens wide-eyed and fascinated as she launches into a hilarious and horrible re-telling of the Wizard of Oz, complete with a terrible rendition of "Over the Rainbow." At its heart, this film is about each character's longing for a place they can call "home." Physical AND figurative.

When Dorothy learned what she needed to from her time in Oz, she went home, back to the arms of the people who loved her most. It is what she wanted; she was happy in Kansas. And yet, I can't help but wonder if there were days, in the years after her Dreamtime, that she sometimes stared idly out the window, forgetting all of her responsibilities for a few moments, and thought about Oz and how she might get back. In her black and white life, she remembered that magic place in all its technicolor glory, knowing she was better for her time away.

The Christmas I returned from Australia, my mother got an enormous wreath that she hung in her living room. It smelled of eucalyptus: just like Australia in the moments before a rainstorm. On lonely days, I sometimes sat in the room, closed my eyes and let the scent of Oz rush through my mind and remembered.

They say that "home is where the heart is." There is truth to that, but when you've left pieces of yourself in so many places, it isn't quite as clear. Perhaps that is what dreaming of that place over the rainbow is all about. The journey is as essential as the destination.

Flipping. Deseret. Book.

It is pretty much no secret that these folks are not going to be making my favorites list anytime soon, but recent events take the cake.

I live nearly two hours from the nearest Deseret Book. (Yes, Mom, you'd refer to this as "the mission field.") For one of our crafty-day projects, in October, if you recall, we made these photo album Sacrament quiet books. I wrote a little doctrinal thing about the sacrament, simplified for young kids, to match the pictures in Greg Olsen's small picture kit called "Images of the Savior." You put the words and pictures mounted into a photo album. The result is quite sweet. These cost about $8 each to make and several sisters signed up for multiples in order to give them to grandkids for Christmas.

Eighteen kits ended up being ordered. As soon as I had the money, two weeks before the Souper Saturday, I got on-line and ordered what I wanted. I put the money in my account and then I waited. And waited. And waited.

The day before I needed them, I called Deseret Book. Sorry, they are on backorder. Hmm . . . and you didn't let me know this over my email because? I mean, isn't that the POINT of having such technology? Not to worry, they assured me, they will be here in mid-November.

I passed on that information and when I had nothing by the 20th of November, and also realized they had never charged my card to begin with, I called again. Sorry they are on backorder. Again? Do you ever tell people anything? Well, she said sweetly (she is probably somebody's grandmother), I can tell you that our next shipment will be here December 14th and that we will FedEx them to you right away. OoooKaaaaaaaay. Oh, and you have until the 4th to cancel the order if you need to.

I spent a good chunk of the rest of that day calling the women who had signed up for the project to find out if they wanted me to cancel their orders and they could just get them at DB next time they were there? I could refund money? You know the drill. It was a huge headache.

Then, Saturday, I went to the temple with a friend who was getting her endowment. It was a lovely day, if a bit hectic. (Plantboy and I went together and left the kids for a few hours with a friend that moved there from our ward. It turned out to be an 8 hour round trip. And while it seems really sacrificial and righteous for the temple to be such an effort, I mostly just grumble and wish it was closer.) On a whim, we found the Deseret Book and hunted all over for the pictures.

I think the pictures are on backorder because the Portland Store is hoarding at least 250 of these things.

Very cleverly, I put 18 of these babies on my credit card. Plantboy, acting as the voice of reason for a change, said, "are you sure you can cancel the other?" Oh, yes, I assured him, I have until the fourth. But this is perfect. Everyone will now get them well in time for Christmas and I don't have to deal with it any more.

Sunday I took an hour and half to deliver them. Why so long? At every stop I was asked to do something. Each request was prefaced with, "I'm so glad you dropped by! I've been meaning to call you . . . " Monday I crashed big time. Don't even ask me how many hours I read or what kind of cheesy re-read romance novels I had my nose stuck into. (Okay, one of my selections was Twilight; and no, my opinion has NOT changed.)

Yesterday morning, I opened my e-mail to find the following cheery message from Deseret Book, "You're order: qty 18 "Images of the Savior" has been shipped!"

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How is the h*** is November 25th the equivalent of December 15??? By what stretch of the imagination is "you have until December 4th to cancel" the equivalent of them sending the cards Sunday night? When I called, the grandmotherly voice on the other end apologized about 400 times, all the while repeatedly telling me that there is no way that a representative from Deseret Book would have given me an exact shipping date and then gave me a crash course in the logistics of DB's ordering structure. She also emphasized how unreliable ordering over the Internet was and that they would be happy to take a phone order any time. Thanks for that. She did, however, graciously offer to send me a return slip. Here is how this will play: I get the order; I wait for the return labels; I repackage the order so that it doesn't say "FedEx" anymore; I drag my pre-schooler and toddler to the post office to mail the thing; I wait for the order to clear through DB and THEN I get refunded. Oh, yeah, my checking account SO needed the $80 hit four weeks before Christmas.

I must go bake. It will help to ease some of my anger at the universe. On the upside, I caught Tiny Fey as a pirate on Sesame Street this morning. She said that they needed to come up with some words that began with a pirate's favorite letter.

Yes, Yes, I thought it was "RRRRRRRRRRR" too.

But no, Tina argues, pirates love F-words. Well, that seems appropriate too.

Gratitude. Gratitude. Must remember to be grateful . . . .

Blogging So That I Don't Kill Someone

No worries. It is just a customer service rep. She is safe from my awesome physical prowess.

Because I Think I'm A Teenager Like That

Last night at book group, one of my friends said, "We've got an extra ticket. So how about it, huh?" So at midnight last night . . . .



The last movie opening I went to was one of the Pirates movies a couple of years ago. I vowed that I would never do it again as it was me and plantboy and 100 slutty pirate girls. (Their dates were just weird, not slutty.) Still, last night I found myself in a theatre crammed with screaming teenage goths. Some of whom were very slutty. Good times.

What about the papers you say? Oh, I just picked them up and delivered them on the way home from the movie. I'm going for nocturnal this week. It is really not working for me.

A Time of Thanks. And Stress.

In Australia, they use the term "whinging." Like many Aussie words, it takes a bit of translation. First of all, it is pronounced "win-jing." It is similar to murmuring, complaining, and grouching. Most Aussie-isms are abbreviations or combinations of other words. This one is a like like "binge whining," which is highly descriptive. I've griped to just about everyone in the last few days, so while I'm on a binge I thought I'd whine to you a little bit here too.

Nearly a year ago, our the Enrichment counselor and I booked all of our dates for 2008. Twice now, the activities committee, scheduling just a few weeks late has either booked over our activities or within close proximity. Our summer activity had to have a last-minute move because of the ward camp out. Now the ward's Christmas party is just two days after our RS Christmas Social. (Don't even get me started on how bad I hate that we are doing a social instead of a service project at Christmas time.)

This doesn't sound too bad, except that the ward activity is easily the biggest of the year. It is probably better attended than most of our Sacrament meetings. The activities committee commandeers anyone who will say yes to help. Which, in our ward, unfortunately, is not a very large number of people.

Three days before Souper Saturday (NOT a misspelling) and the day before Jedi Master's birthday party, the Activities Committee Head Person calls and says, "I just need to ask you something; now I know you are busy."

"Yes. What is it?"

"Just think about it before you tell me no."

"Yes. What is it?" The panic rising in my voice now.

"I have tried to think of someone else but your name just keeps coming back to me."

"Debbie. What is it?!"

"Would you be in charge of the program for our Christmas dinner?"

The overdone, too-long, noisy production from last year flashed through my head. As well as the word "Herdmans." I am sure that she picked up on the silence at my end. She repeated, "I know you are busy, I just felt so strongly that I had to ask you."

Later I said to Jeff, "What do you say to that?" He shrugged and mouthed the word "no." When I told the story to my snarky and sometime irreligious little sis she said, "Good grief! Does she think she's the bishop? She didn't need to act like an angel had come to her and named you as the chosen vessel!"

I am not the chosen vessel, but I did not say no.

I was given a small committee who is mostly out of town for the next two or three weeks, a program I greatly disliked, and no real direction to go.

I'll spare the rest of the gory details, but between the social and the program, I think I have easily put in 20 hours for church in the last week and a half. Maybe 30. On the upside, after December 6th, I get to cruise for about six weeks. And the Youngling will enter nursery, so at least I might get to sit through a couple of church meetings for a change!

Whinging done, now on to the things I did today to find a bright spot in my too-much-Mormon-culture-universe.

I made amazing cookies this afternoon. A-flippin'-mazing. Use Ghiradelli's sweet chocolate chips and their recipe with the following modifications: Use half butter, half shortening; Increase the flour by 1/3 of cup and add 3/4 cup of oatmeal; add a cup of peanut butter chips with the chocolate. The secret to any fantastic chocolate chip cookie, however, is to cook it just until the shine is off, let them sit for about a minute on the pan and then cool. They will stay soft all week. If they last that long.

Padawan made pilgrim and Indian hats at pre-school this week. Youngling wanted to try one out, just like he saw his older brothers do.

The second this hat went on, the hand went to the mouth and "Ay, yi, yi" started. He can't talk, but he sure loves to copy.

Jedi Master then said it was time to do a little pilgrim-Indian show. He rowed the couch to the new land of America. When he arrived, Padawan greeted him and showed him how to plant a fish with his corn and helped him build a house.

Then, his headdress regained, the Youngling began chasing his brothers all over the house. As with most of our games, this one ended in a wrestling match.

It only took 500 years, but it looks like the Indians finally came out on top.

The third great thing that happened today is that my mom surprised me with the news of a spontaneous visit in mid-December. They found uber-cheap tickets and will be here for Padawan's birthday. I cannot even express how happy this makes me. This year will be the first that we have not been with family or had family with us for either Thanksgiving or Christmas. I'm a big girl now with a family of my own, but I didn't realize just how much I wanted to see family for the holidays until my mother gave me her news. Though they won't be here exactly for either of them, their visit will certainly lift my spirits after all the above rigmarole.

Like you, my posting may be fairly irregular over the next several weeks. Happy holidays everyone. May you find the peace that you crave.

Footloose and Fancy Free. And a Little Sick to my Stomach.

Plantboy is out of town again. Why is it that two nights away from hubby and I revert to bachelorette mode?

He has been gone about 24 hours, and I've accomplished quite a lot--mostly because I threatened to abolish story-time if I wasn't given help to clean up the house RIGHT NOW, LITTLE MISTERS. But I also realize that this 24 hours has been full of wastes as well:

I watched TV until nearly midnight, including the CMA's which would never have flown with Plantboy home. I flipped between that and another show I like, only to miss Keith Urban singing his new song, which was the main reason I was watching the CMA's to begin with. And no, Nem, his shirt was not unbuttoned to his navel even once. Does anyone else think Nicole Kidman isn't so much aging as she is turning into an alien? After the CMA's I spent an hour watching "Sahara," which is actually a pretty good movie, as far as that sort of thing goes. Which is more attractive? Matthew McConaughy without a shirt, or Steve Zahn being hilarious and needing a hat? If you said "Plantboy," you got the right answer.

Having missed The Keith, I then surfed the Internet until 1 a.m. hoping someone had posted footage from the show. No luck.

I read nearly 250 pages to finish my novel: Spindle's End. I love Robin McKinley, but this was a little obtuse for my fantasy-light taste. More along the lines of Rose Daughter than The Blue Sword. (If you've read McKinley, you'll know what I mean. If not, you MUST read Hero and the Crown and The Blue Sword.)

Corn dogs. Two. I ate two corn dogs for "dinner" last night. Even my kids won't eat corn dogs.

Not wanting to make my bed again, I slept on top of my covers with a blanket over the top. But only on half the bed. The other half is covered with junk from the emptied furniture I was supposed to spend some time refinishing today. Oh, and I took a nap.

Pizza. Homemadish, but still pizza.

After a morning of errands, I put on my flannel PJ bottoms for comfort during the housework; I also wore these for my nap. The Jedi Master getting home from school woke me up. The first words out of his mouth were, "Are you STILL in your pajamas?" I was a little defensive.

Dr. Pepper. Ooo! That reminds me--the other 20 ounces are still out in the car.

Chocolate. Of course. It's only 9:30, west coast time. Who wants to come hang out?

More Buckets

Yesterday Plantboy had to take a day off because he went out of town for several days last week. I told Plantboy that I thought I'd take a day off too. I spent most of the day Christmas shopping. I also treated myself to a guacamole bacon burger at Red Robin. I ordered double fries and drank enough rootbeer to rival the ward campout intake. While I ate my luscious lunch I read and I did NOT wipe any faces or break up any fights.

If you haven't done this for a while, please, take a day off. It was pretty much awesome.

I also bought supplies to make up a few more of my gift buckets--these ones for the ladies I visit teach. Though there are 80 things on the to-do list before Christmas should really be addressed, my project has put me a bit in the mood today. They are rather festive. I'm going to fill them with hazelnut clusters. Don't you wish I visit-taught you?

Looking for a Little Hope

Between the rain we've had all week and the time change, it has been getting dark by about 4:30 here. So I've been looking for a little bright spot.

And I've found it in a big way.

No, I don't just mean Barack Obama being elected. Though, I must say that I had waited a long time to vote for him: probably since I first read about him in the Spring of 2004. So, despite all that is hard about this new world we have found ourselves in during recent months, I would like to now give here my reasons for hope:

* A dignified and gracious concession speech from a man who is a great American patriot and will continue to serve as a voice of balance and careful compromise in the US Senate.
* The non-realization of the so-called Bradley Effect, indicating that there are probably fewer "closet racists" in the country than most of us assume.
* Nem's post from yesterday has made me feel liberated about believing strongly that I can be a faithful Latter-day Saint and still subscribe to much of the philosophy found in the Democratic party.
* A dignified and gracious acceptance speech from a man who made little effort to boost his own merits but instead pledged to work on behalf of every American, regardless of how they voted.
* An election decided, decisively, within a few hours instead of days or months so that our new president will take office without a cloud over his head and with a mandate to govern.
*Nearly 120 million Americans showed up to be counted yesterday. Votes DO matter.
* A president-elect who is practically in my generation who is smart, calm and forward-thinking.
* A renewed determination to do my best to be a responsible citizen and to raise my children to be the same.
* Church leaders who remain optimistic about the opportunities to be found in the very trials that are knocking at the door.

It is the opportunity of our generation to remake our country. The more I meet and interact with the bright, committed men and women who are young parents now, the more I believe that we can make the world a better place.

We The People

At 8am on November first I should be posting pictures from our fun Halloween times last night, but Plantboy went out of town yesterday afternoon, and in my rush to make it to Tabula Rasa's Halloween Party I remembered everything but the camera. We had fun: the kids will just have to wear the same costumes next year to get the memories for posterity. Yeah, yeah, I can dress them up today, but October is so yesterday and I'm just not in the mood.

Instead, I'll turn to giving a PSA announcement. When I opened my email this morning, I answered a survey from my on-line bank, where I manage my tiny, but growing, savings accounts. (ING Direct, which I love by the way.) After the survey, they took me to this page. I like this idea of a grassroots "We the Savers" movement. Imagine that, our church leaders and grandparents have been telling us the truth all along about paying as we go.

Now, switching gears a bit, I was reading an article a couple of weeks ago about the history of the balloting system here in the United States. It was fascinating. I am continually amazed that our democracy has survived at all. My favorite part was the following paragraph:

"On Election Day this November, I’ll walk around the corner to vote in the basement gymnasium of a neighborhood elementary school, beneath a pair of basketball hoops. At a table just inside the gym, a precinct volunteer will hand me a piece of white paper about the size and weight of a file folder. I’ll enter a booth built on a frame of aluminum poles, tug shut behind me a red-white-and-blue striped curtain, and, with a black marker tied to a string, I’ll mark my ballot, awed, as always, by the gravity, the sovereignty, of the moment. With the stroke of a pen, we, mere citizens, become We the People."

A couple of weeks ago my mother-in-law and I had a conversation about voting. She talked about how there was sense of community solidarity about going and standing peaceably in line with people who would cast their ballots differently than yours. About standing shoulder to shoulder with men and women whose fundamental ideals of government and life disagree sharply with yours. And yet, there we stand, ready to make our voices heard, whatever we have to say. I think she is right, for all of the convenience I had of voting by mail earlier this week, there is something sacrificial and declaratory about standing at the polling place.

And America's greatness is that in January, whoever is elected, will assume the post of commander-in-chief with dignity and grace and a look to the future. Even in the year 2000, in the middle of great controversy and national division, even anger, all proceded according to the rule of law. Over the past several months, we have shared many opinions on our blogs. I feel like I have grown and learned much this year through the associations of intelligent, spiritual women. How can our nation be anything but blessed when such women are the next generation of mothers? Let us stand together on Tuesday, at least united in a desire to help shape a world in which our children can reach their potential. Vote. Please vote.

It's Not Like I Did This!

Monday night I spent some serious time getting some amazing orange roll dough ready to roll out for FHE. I promised Jedi Master he could help. Orange rolls are rolled out like cinnamon rolls but filled with sugar, orange peel and dried cranberries. Our dough was all rolled out into a beautiful, soft, stretchy rectangle. We were waiting for Padawan to wash his hands so he could join us when JM did a loud sniff right over the dough telling me it smelled good.


From the sniff I could tell that there was a lot more going on inside his big-kid nose than just air and so I said, "Please don't do that; you don't want to accidentally get boogers on the dough."

He said, "It's not like I did this!" He leaned over the dough and did a farmer blow. A huge booger striped its way across the beautiful dough. I screamed. He screamed. This is a child who only learned how to blow into a tissue about three weeks ago. And yet, already, his blowing skill is very advanced.

Still, Elder Wirthland said that we needed to learn to laugh more at ourselves. It took a few minutes, but I was able to.

October was a very full month for us. Earlier in the month I put up several pictures from my parents' visit. A few days after they left, Padawan's pre-school went to the pumpkin patch. His outfit is totally ridiculous, but he is so happy. This is Padawan's best little buddy. We'll call her the Princess, and these two are just hilarious together. For all her petite cuteness, she is a bit rough and tumble and loves boy toys. Padawan kept telling her which pumpkins to pick because he didn't want to get dirty. Very gentlemanly.














Later that afternoon, my in-laws came into town for several days. While they were here, we took a trip to the coast and to another pumpkin patch. The kids also painted and carved some pumpkins, but I haven't taken those pictures yet.

The day after they left, we had the Star-Wars-Party-O-Rama here at our house. I was pretty much feeling like mother of the year: at least on THAT day. I've never seen so much 6 and 7 year old aggression when I said "light saber" and "pinata" in the same sentence.

Two days after Jedi Master's Party, I was in charge of our Relief Society's "Souper" Saturday. I haven't said anything about this here, though it has consumed many of my thoughts and too much of my energy since late August. I'm trying hard to have a better attitude about my calling (Enrichment Leader) and we DID end up with a really great turn out. Maybe nine months from now (it takes three months to plan the dang thing) I'll be geared up for it again. Maybe. Anyway, here are some pictures of the results of one of the craft classes that I ran:

Last night was Jedi Master's soccer banquet. It must be admitted that they were pretty much the worst team ever. (Okay, like anyone can know that . . . .) We only scored a few goals all season and got a very thorough thumping from every team we played. When I told Jedi that we were headed to have a pizza party with his soccer team he was very excited, but when I told him he was getting a trophy, he said, "Why?"

Why, indeed.

The selected trophy is a boy kicking a soccer ball. Instead of a head, he has a bobble soccer head. The trophy is personalized. Kind of. The spelling of Jedi Master's first and last name is so butchered that I'm not exactly certain if the trophy was intended for us. Whoever heard of a bobblehead trophy?